Control
by Bento Box
Summary: Zell Dincht in a post-game Alternate Universe. Drama, angst, bloodshed and insanity at its not so finest. Work in progress.
1. Control: Part One

Disclaimers: All FF8 characters are respectfully copyrighted to their rightful owners, Squaresoft. No copyright infringement intended for the usage of their characters in this work of fiction. No profit is being made by this fan fiction; please do not redistribute unless otherwise stated so by me personally.  
Warning: The story will eventually depict homosexual relationship(s). I don't write my characters as horny rabbits about to jump the sack, love at first sighters, or Shakespear-spouting lovers, but if you have a problem with being a mature and respectful reader about NON-heterosexual relationships, I suggest you STOP READING now. And really, don't be an _idiot_ and _flame_ me after I've warned you. It'll irritate me if you do, but I won't be losing any sleep over you. Possibly just some brain cells at your lack of comprehension.

Part One:

He casually lit the end of the cigarette, the red embers glowing softly beneath the flickering lamp post, and the scent of liver damaging nicotine filling the night air.

Breathing in slowly from one slender end, the exhaled smoke billowed gently upwards and away in a gist of gray smoke.

He watched the little puffs of white idly, his mind lingering none too long on one thought before moving to the next. Memories flitting by in an uneventful sequence; when had his days become so monotonous and routine?

Another drag, another puff, and his gaze still unwavering from the starless sky.

_Star light, star bright,  
First star I see tonight,_

A memory flashed behind the cool blue eyes that kept on searching the empty sky.

Chin-length blonde hair, stuck up and out every which way, framed a pale, slender face as the sharp chin perched on drawn-up knees. Large blue eyes, so wide and filled with life, gazed up at the night sky, unwavering. Each sight, sound and smell was embraced with wonder and joy.

Just him, a beat-up stuffed Tonberry that had seen far better days, and the wide, vast sky and the world around him.

The stars were particularly bright that night.

A small spark flamed against the black velvet, and he held his breath is it became a luminous streak.

A shooting star!

And he squeezed his eyelids shut, and fervently made a wish--_a home, a family, friends, love, warmth_.

_I wish I may,  
I wish I might,_

The memory faded away, tucking itself into a small corner in his mind and he let the warmth of it slip away, sliding from between his slack fingers.

He let the cigarette butt fall to the ground, crushing it beneath a thickly soled heel.

There were no stars for him tonight to wish upon; the whimsical fantasies spun by his once upon a time innocent mind were all long gone. Those days were far, far away from his empty sight.

It couldn't have been too long ago that he had just been 17, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excess energy, tightly clenched fists pumping the air in nervous excitement.

But now... now he stood woodenly, his stance wary and withdrawn.

His eyes dull and blank

He no longer yearned for excitement, for adventures, for life-risking assignments to fill the days that were now endless and tiring.

_Have the wish,_

A cool breeze sank into the thick jacket he wore, and he could feel the goosebumps rise all along his arms. He told himself that it was the cold night air that made him tremble so. He did not want to seek further, deeper, where the gaping hole in his chest lay.

"Zell?"

His mind told him to believe that the smooth, drawling voice was part of his halting train of thought, but it called his name again, getting clearer and closer, outside of his mind.

Controlling the slight trembling that made him want to wrap his arms around himself, he turned to acknowledge the sniper.

Violet eyes were peering at him from underneath the ever-present tasseled hat. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt thick as he forcefully put on a plastic-feeling grin.

He knew it failed when the eyes grew dark visibly.

"Yo Irv, what brings ya out here? Ain't it kinda late out?" He kept his voice light and friendly, but adding silently with his eyes to not push as to why he himself was out so late.

"Just out for a stroll 'cause I couldn't go to sleep. What about you? What are you doin' out here so late?" The dark eyes were defiant, telling him that yes, Irvine would push as to why.

Zell sought for the anger he should have felt, but only found weariness instead.

_It was late, that's why I feel so tired, that's all it is. That's all._

Zell let his shoulders rise and fall in a limp shrug, his eyelids feeling heavy. He allowed himself to close his eyes, tilting his face towards the sky, and let a pregnant silence settle briefly between them before answering softly. "Couldn't sleep either. Feel tired but don't wanna sleep."

_Because the nightmares will be waiting._

The wind was picking up again, and he could feel his body begin to tremble once more.

He suddenly felt a warm hand gently settle on his shoulder.

Feeling surprise at the unexpected touch, he let his eyelids rise and turning to the side slightly, have a questioning look at the other man.

And found Irvine's face mimicking his previous one, eyes closed and face tilting towards the empty sky. Irvine's expression almost dreamy, in a sad way. Zell didn't try to put meaning behind the seeming sadness, not wanting to read something more into what probably wasn't anything.

The silence was regining once more, but neither were overly compelled to break it. They stood there, side to side, without voicing the unspoken words and silent questions that hung between them.

Irvine didn't withdraw his hand.

Zell didn't shrug it off.

_I wish tonight._


	2. Control: Part Two

Disclaimers: All FF8 characters are respectfully copyrighted to their rightful owners, Squaresoft. No copyright infringement intended for the usage of their characters in this work of fiction. No profit is being made by this fan fiction; please do not redistribute unless otherwise stated so by me personally.  
Warning: The story will eventually depict homosexual relationship(s). I don't write my characters as horny rabbits about to jump the sack, love at first sighters, or Shakespear-spouting lovers, but if you have a problem with being a mature and respectful reader about NON-heterosexual relationships, I suggest you STOP READING now. And really, don't be an _idiot_ and _flame_ me after I've warned you. It'll irritate me if you do, but I won't be losing any sleep over you. Possibly just some brain cells at your lack of comprehension.

Part Two:

_Lift_. _Spread_. _Flex_. _Cut_. _Strike_.

_Lift_. _Spread_. _Flex_. _Cut_. _Strike_.

Hands lifting, fingers spreading, nerves flexing, air cut, hands striking a hard, resilient surface.

_Lift_. _Spread_. _Flex_. _Cut_. _Strike_.

He continued to breath in slowly and deeply, not noticing as the trails of sweat begin to thicken and flow continuously as if he were standing underneath a shower-head.

Hands lifting, fingers spreading, the motions repeating over and over again in an unbroken litany.

_Lift_. _Spread_. _Flex_. _Cut_. _Strike_.

Feet a blur of motion and muscles becoming defined as they were pressed into use; blood pumping throughout his body in a wild, freeing ecstasy.

Fingers clenching into tight fists, leaving indents on the slowly yielding surface and then smoothing out for a split second before he was striking it again.

And again.

And again.

_Lift_. _Spread_. _Flex_. _Cut_. _Strike_.

He wasn't focusing on the 26 students surrounding him in a tightly-knit circle, but a good several feet away from him.

He didn't pay attention to their startled facial expressions; some mingled with fear, others by awe, and most by uneasiness.

Body gliding on the smooth practice mats, feet barely touching them as he continued to circle the stuffed bag over and over, faster and faster. The students could no longer see the taut muscles or lithe body; they only saw a blur of pale, over-flushed skin, and blonde hair. He was a furious storm whirling around and around. He was becaming unrecognizable.

_Liftspreadflexcutstrike_. _Liftspreadflexcutstrike_. _Liftspreadflexcutstrike_.

The silence was so empty it was deafening. A drop of sweat was falling and when it hit the floor it became a resounding echo. It was so loud in the silence.

And slowly he began to realize his fists were thrusting against soft, shredded cotton.

Distantly he began to feel the screaming muscles, the raw, throbbing burn coating the knuckles of his hands.

Gradually he began to realize that his body was no longer moving. He was barely panting though sweat was rolling off his body in a salty rain,but then his legs gave way, his knees buckling to strike against the thick mat now coated in a flurry of stuffing.

Lifting his head, hair usually gravity-defying limp and wet, he met the horrified and shocked gazes of his twenty-six students.

_Spread_. _Flex_. _Bleed_. _Lose_. _Fall_.

Spread fingers splayed against the soft material, flexing painfully to close them into a bloody grasp, he knew he had finally lost, caving into the mad cries that had been haunting him in his restless slumber.

"Shit! Someone grab another instructor! Instructor Dincht--"

"Instructor Dincht, are you oka--"

"Holy FUCK, I ain't ever seen anyone move so FA--"

"Oh Hyne, what's going on?! What's wrong--"

"ZELL!"

_Lift_. _Spread_. _Flex_. _Cut_. _Strike_.

_Fall_.


	3. Control: Part Three

Disclaimers: All FF8 characters are respectfully copyrighted to their rightful owners, Squaresoft. No copyright infringement intended for the usage of their characters in this work of fiction. No profit is being made by this fan fiction; please do not redistribute unless otherwise stated so by me personally.  
Warning: The story will eventually depict homosexual relationship(s). I don't write my characters as horny rabbits about to jump the sack, love at first sighters, or Shakespear-spouting lovers, but if you have a problem with being a mature and respectful reader about NON-heterosexual relationships, I suggest you STOP READING now. And really, don't be an _idiot_ and _flame_ me after I've warned you. It'll irritate me if you do, but I won't be losing any sleep over you. Possibly just some brain cells at your lack of comprehension.

Part Three:

He would drift in and out of consciousness, his touches with the outside world brief and filled with a sort of numb pain. His body would struggle with the pain and the drugs pumping through his blood, while his mind fought with the clinging darkness that called to him, promising a painless sleep that would never end.

And distantly, in the safety of the darkness in his mind, he was wondering what there was outside that he kept coming back for, because his body was not relenting without a fight.

The first time he came to, he could hear distorted voices speaking near him as if through a static and hazy interception.

"--condition is worsening--his body--haywired and completely shutdown--"

"--caused this to happen?"

"--exertion--he's unstable."

"--you tell?"

"His body--the signs--unstable."

And the second time.

"--hear me?"

He could feel gentle hands smoothing over his brow; a light, feathery caress that made him wonder what he had done to deserve it. He couldn't remember anything he'd done these past few months to deserve anything filled with such warmth and tenderness.

"Zell, don't you dare--not going--let you fucking give up--"

The light touches drifted across his forehead, his cheeks, his lips and he felt another hand, warm, so warm, slip into his own. He wished, for a moment, that he could curl his own fingers around the warmth, but his body would not allow him to respond.

He could only feel and hear.

But the desire to lift his heavy eyelids ended when the darkness came once more to reclaim him, and he descended hard and fast into its embrace, not feeling the cold tear slide down the side of his face, or the trembling hand that was brushing it away.


	4. Control: Part Four

Disclaimers: All FF8 characters are respectfully copyrighted to their rightful owners, Squaresoft. No copyright infringement intended for the usage of their characters in this work of fiction. No profit is being made by this fan fiction; please do not redistribute unless otherwise stated so by me personally.  
Warning: The story will eventually depict homosexual relationship(s). I don't write my characters as horny rabbits about to jump the sack, love at first sighters, or Shakespear-spouting lovers, but if you have a problem with being a mature and respectful reader about NON-heterosexual relationships, I suggest you STOP READING now. And really, don't be an _idiot_ and _flame_ me after I've warned you. It'll irritate me if you do, but I won't be losing any sleep over you. Possibly just some brain cells at your lack of comprehension.

Part Four:

Zell Dincht had been stuck in the infirmary for eight days, 6 hours and 10 minutes.

He found it surprising that they hadn't kept track of the amount of seconds while he had been out as well.

Zell had also received scathing lectures from both the doctor and Headmaster Squall Leonhart.

His teeth would still clench in anger at the memory of the little "chat" with the other man.

He was put out on leave for physical recovery, for two weeks.

And exactly three weeks, two days, and several hours, minutes and seconds later, he was sent out on his first mission since the "loss of control incident."

He managed to fuck it up.

It wasn't so bad, really, but he had allowed the spy to get away with information on the Garden's weaponry system.

Oh, sure, the information was outdated by at least a decade or so, but did that mean anything? No.

He received another lecture from Squall, no less cold, but at least this time around he had the explanation of his near-brush with death to get him off the hook.

He had believed the explanation himself, until the second mission rolled around.

And that time he fucked up....

He fucked it up big time.

_Flashback_

_Okay Dincht, get in, get the shit, and get out. With any luck, ya won't have to kill anyone on the way in or out._

With the mental pep talk over with, Zell took a deep breath, composed himself, and allowed his training and instincts to take over to keep him on the guard.

_Really don't like this damn mission. Too shaky and not enough precautions. If only we didn't need that fuckin' data right now.... Really don't like this. Reaaally don't like this. Coulda at least given me back up. Bet if the others weren't on missions, and the cadets too fresh, Squall wouldn't have given this to me to take on my own. Too important to botch up like I did last time._

His thoughts becomng too distracting and decidedly more bitter, he shoved them away and focused on moving faster. Emotions were as dangerous to his safety and to the mission as a troop of soldiers.

His leg muscles stretched and tightened as he ran silently and swiftly through the empty corrider, mind carefully blank of anything except getting the data and back out as quickly and efficently as possible. Going over the memorized directions and instrctions inside his mind, he turned accordingly around the corners he was supposed to.

All too soon, Zell made out the dull thud of boots against the tile floor.

Grimacing, he swept narrowed blue eyes around his surroundings, and he scanned the corrider for a possible place to hide.

As luck would have it, the corrider was completely devoid of any vent holes or large, obscure objects for him to take cover behind. Unable to avoid the confrontation, and he cursed his damned luck at being stuck in the one corrider that was empty.

_Fuck._

For a split second, blue eyes stared into black ones, and then the contact was over.

Slower to react to the intruder, the other man barely managed a pained cry before Zell's gloved fist met his face. He went down with a heavy and loud thud; metal armor clanged loudly against the floor as the gun clattered noisily before it went still and silent.

Zell knew the man was effectively knocked out for the next two hours or so, before he'd wake up with a bitch of a headache and a minor concussion, if the way his bare head had slammed against the hard ground had anything to do with it.

"Kaine!"

His head snapped forwards. The loud yell was sure to rouse more people, and Zell propelled himself forwards once more.

He swiftly brought his fist around again, and it landed, causing a pained grunt. The man was a lot more sturdier than his comrade though, and he wasn't as slow to react.

Their close proximity hindered the guard from being able to fire his gun, but he managed to use the blunt end to butt painfully into Zell's right shoulder. Flinching from the pain, he ducked a severe swipe to his face and swept the man's feet out from under him. In a position similar to the other unconscious guard, Zell had to lean down and aim another blow to the side of his head.

Hard enough to knock out, restrained enough to not cause serious brain damage.

Zell knew how to kill, but only under the most dire of circumstances.

Like the one staring down at him from a gaping black hole.

_Again.... fuck._

He slowly rose to his feet, making his movements submissive and unthreatening, his gaze drifted farther back along the barrell and he was torn between laughing in weak relief and cold dread at the guard who currently had Zell's life in his hands, a trigger away.

It was a kid.

_Just a kid._

One with overly wide brown eyes that reminded him of a puppy, the long lashes making him seem even more obscenely boyish and young. And those overly wide eyes were large with fear.

The damn gun was even trembling slightly.

He opened his mouth to try and persuade the kid to let him go alive when there was that ominous little _click_. The one that would eventually lead to a lot of Zell's guts and blood all over the walls and ground.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

His own eyes widened slightly. He stared into the brown eyes, willed them to not apply more pressure to that sensitive trigger.

_Don't do it. Don't do it. You're a kid. Don't kill. Ain't right. Just a kid. Don't do it man. Don't you fucking pull that trigger!_

Zell knew a lot about fighting, even more about death. He'd done a lot of killing.

Once upon a time, it was just about making his grandfather proud, living up to the family honor. Once upon a time, Zell hadn't really put much thought about the lessons he had learned, the stories he had heard. It was all glory, glory, glory. Beautiful, wonderful glory and nothing was wrong with it.

And then, the happily ever after began to fade away. It had left Zell with the real picture.

_War, blood, death, fighting, peace, honor, life, horror, terror, fear, pride, joy, rage, anger, innocence._

And he had read the books, known about the bloodshed and the deaths and brutalness of it all. But the books had been dry; a skeletal, a damn chapter review complete with bullet points and romanized numerals. It didn't tell you about the pain, anguish and turmoil that went with the notion of glory and honor. It didn't tell you about the endless pain that came from having innocence ripped from you and being shoved into the position as world savior.

Zell had lucked out, one of those people who took things in with a pinch of salt, a dash of lemon to rub gently into the wounds. And he had been able to heal, to look beyond the blood, the nameless faces of the soldiers and "bad guys" he had killed.

But then again, he had been somewhat prepared, for all his glorified views.

This kid wasn't. And Zell was betting his life that the boy had never killed another human being before, and that _this_ was his turning point.

_Don't do it._

"What the FUCK are you just standing there for ya damned idiot?!"

The shout was enough for the young guard to lose his focus on Zell, and Zell took that miraculous chance and aimed a high kick at the unsteady hand that gripped the gun. The boy whirled around with a yell, and Zell kicked the gun behind him. The sound of a gun being fired registered in his brain a second after he felt a sharp, fiery pain tear past his forearm. Just a graze, but the next shot wouldn't be as merciful.

And he was right, with barely a pause, more rounds were fired and thus ensued a chaotic dance with dodging bullets. Zell's attention caught up in not getting his ass filled with lead, barely registered when the other, younger, guard joined the party.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the kid about to launch his attack--physically.

Out of the other corner of his other eye, he saw as the other man--the one with the gun--became increasingly frustrated, his anger clouding his judgement.

But nothing, nothing, not Zell's usual inhumanly graceful speed turned sluggish and numb, not Zell's mind taking things in slow motion, not his screamed warning to stop or _move, move outta the way!_, could make up or explain why _it_ happened.

_BOOM!_

"Lore--!!!" The dismayed shout from the younger guard's face flickered in denail, confusement, pain, terror and a million other things.

And Zell watched.

Watched as the young, boyish face contracted in pain: _too soon, too fast, too young_. He watched as the slender body jerked backwards from the momentum of the shot. He watched the trickle of blood that seeped from the mouth that was still open from the shout. He watched as more blood gushed forward from the shoulder wound.

And he knew, despite what fiction said, that there was a major blood vessel in the shoulder, that when severed would end up in death without proper treatment.

The boy would die.

But he couldn't help because another bullet whizzed by, and it served to capture his attention once more through his shocked and numbed vision.

The man was still firing. He was still firing even though he had accidentally taken down his own comrade. He was still firing even though he knew the younger man was bleeding; bleeding to his death!

Rage filled Zell and his vision was blurred by red, and he felt a suffocating hold over his body and with tears that threatened to fall, his fury grew rapidly inside him.

In a blur of motion he shot forward, hands moving, body gliding in the same furious dance that had caused his trip to the infirmary those few weeks ago. But now he was fueled by a helpless rage that howled wildly in his ears and pumped erratically with the thunder of his heart.

It was over in just a few seconds.

And with his chest heaving and breath drawn in short, gasping bursts, Zell stared at the scene before him in a mixture of horror and disgust.

He turned and began to run, his tears fell silently as his feet pounded dully against the cold, hard floor.

_End Flashback_

Zell had gotten the data and got out of the vicinty in record timing. He had even found another exit that led directly from the control room, which allowed him the mercy from having to go back ti face the nightmare he had left behind. Squall, and the doctor, hadn't been pleased at the sight of his bloodied and blank-faced state, but the mission had been a complete success--as far as Squall was concerned.

But Zell's nightmares had begun to increase in intensity, with new fuel for his mind to conjure. Faces and voices plagued his sleep, and whenever he awoke, he awoke to the sight of blood-stained fists.

He had become somewhat obsessed with both avoiding looking at his hands, and washing them frequently whenever he could.

So he continued on, mission accomplished and as normal as ever.


	5. Control: Part Five

Disclaimers: All FF8 characters are respectfully copyrighted to their rightful owners, Squaresoft. No copyright infringement intended for the usage of their characters in this work of fiction. No profit is being made by this fan fiction; please do not redistribute unless otherwise stated so by me personally.  
Warning: The story will eventually depict homosexual relationship(s). I don't write my characters as horny rabbits about to jump the sack, love at first sighters, or Shakespear-spouting lovers, but if you have a problem with being a mature and respectful reader about NON-heterosexual relationships, I suggest you STOP READING now. And really, don't be an _idiot_ and _flame_ me after I've warned you. It'll irritate me if you do, but I won't be losing any sleep over you. Possibly just some brain cells at your lack of comprehension.

Part Five:

Zell was lying on his bed, staring up at the cool, gray color of his ceiling. There weren't any of the rough, bumpy gradients on the surface like on the walls of his room back in Balamb, and there weren't any white-curtained windows above the bed's headboard. He finally forced himself upright, muscles protesting from the brutal and incessant training practice he had pushed himself through the night before. Wincing at a particularly sore stretch in his left shoulder, he stood and walked towards the bathroom on led-laden feet.

The reflection that greeted him once he stood before the bathroom sink made him cringe and the lines of weariness to draw even tighter at the corners of his eyes and lips. The darkened grooves beneath his blue eyes seemed to have deepened from yesterday's reflection and he ignored the clenching in his guts at the prolonged staring at his own face. Leaning quickly down to splash his face with water and begin his morning ritual of floss, gurgle, brush and wash, he mentally went over today's schedule.

A quick on the go breakfast consisting of some toast and a cup of coffee and prompt meeting with Squall and half of the staff on summer training plans for Garden. Then off to his late morning classes on physical self-defense till half past noon; lunch with Selphie, Quistis and possibly Squall should he deign to grace them with his presence, and afternoon classes assisting in the upper level endurance classes. Evening would probably involve a briefing and update on upcoming or current missions and if recent events were anything to stand by, he wouldn't be needed for any of them. A light dinner, more training to fill up the empty hours that hounded him with images and memories before he'd finally be able to rest his exhausted body to fulfill the minimal requirement of sleep he needed to function properly.

It was a monotonous and dead routine compared to when he was younger, but it was one that made him feel relatively normal and most importantly, _sane_.

If any of his friends and acquaintances noticed the lack of luster coloring his life these days, they refrained from approaching him on the subject. Zell wasn't sure if he was bitter and resentful, or relieved at the fact, or just a combination of both.

Only two more days until the weekend, and then the routine had to be broken to fill up the times that classes and meetings usually took. Zell mulled over his plans on what to do for the upcoming weekend as he chewed and swallowed automatically on the tasteless piece of toast, absently sipping at his coffee every now and then.

Zell brushed off the crumbs that lingered at the corners of his mouth and drained the last bit of his unsweetened, straight black coffee and crumpled the foam cup before tossing it into the small trash bin outside of the door as he walked into the meeting room. Taking his customary seat next to Quistis, he took a moment to look around the nearly empty room and noted that he had arrived early again. Not an unusual occurrence lately, but definitely one in comparison to a month ago when he still came in, shoelaces not yet tied, and mouth still smeared from raspberry donut filling as he would shuffle quickly and embarrassedly to his seat.

The other two current occupants of the room, Quistis and Squall, were talking in muted, hushed tones near the front of the room where Squall sat and would usually dictate the morning meetings. Every now and then, Zell could feel the almost tangible touch of eyes looking at him, but he resolutely refrained from looking back up from his notebook. However, the assumption--one that Zell would heavily bet on being true--that he was being talked about, either primarily or at least mentioned, made him tense and he ignored the pestering voice of his conscience wondering what they were talking about.

The fleeting though that they were possibly discussing his sanity left a small grin on his lips which lasted only a brief second under the weighted scrutiny of either Squall or Quistis.

It felt like Squall's eyes though; Zell was familiar enough with the piercing, and cool gaze that belonged to the current headmaster of Garden.

More people shuffled eventually came in, light chatter and laughter following them as they walked to their seats. A hand pressed down lightly on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze and Zell glanced up to find the familiar sight of Irvine giving him a wide, if still sleepy, grin. He mustered up a smile for the other man, knowing he'd probably only half-succeeded when concern touched the Galbadian's violet eyes.

Before Irvine could voice his worry, a slight cough came from behind the tall man and he turned to find Quistis expectantly waiting for him to take his seat at the end of the row. His grin broadened to a flirtatious smile and greeting before leaving to take his seat.

"Good morning, Zell." Quistis settled gracefully into her seat, opening up her own notebook and uncapping her pen.

"Morning, Quistis."

Any further conversation was discouraged by Squall requesting everyone's attention to the front of the room.

Zell leaned back into his own seat, the hard edges poking at his back, and tuned in with one ear to Squall's announcements. His mind wandering and attention barely there, the only thing that really seemed to anchor him to reality was the ghostly warmth of Irvine's hand where it had gently touched his shoulder.

Zell filed the strange significance of the action for later scrutiny, absentmindedly jotting down the important key points that Squall was relaying.


End file.
